


the way to a man's heart is through

by itsawesternhenry



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017-2018 NHL Season, Concussions, Food, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, frustrated boys taking care of each other, sophomore slump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 03:51:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20185807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsawesternhenry/pseuds/itsawesternhenry
Summary: It’s just his luck he’d get a concussion literally a week after recovering from the flu. Auston barely even had time to appreciate the novelty of skating without feeling like he was gonna hurl every other step before he was back in the training room, lights low, head spinning. Some days he could just scream, like maybe that would unravel the ugly knot in his chest, but Paul warned him against doing anything that could aggravate the concussion.-or-Auston's dealing with a head injury, Mitch is dealing with a sophomore slump, and the best solution for solving both problems is, as always, good food.Set during the 2017-18 season.





	the way to a man's heart is through

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eafay70](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eafay70/gifts).

> Written for Eafay70 for the 2019 Marnthews Fic Exchange. Eafay, I hope you like it! It's kind of a mash up of a few of your prompts, but if I had to narrow it down, it's hometown visits as experienced through food. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It takes Auston fifteen minutes to realize he has no idea where they’re going. Part of that has to do with Toronto traffic - it’s hard to tell where you’re aiming for when you’re only moving two miles an hour – but the other part probably has to do with how he’s had his eyes closed practically the entire trip. Auston’s been able to avoid most of the grizzlier concussion symptoms so far, but the stop-and-go traffic is hell on his stomach and he’d rather not throw up all over Mitch’s car, thanks.

It’s just his luck he’d get a concussion literally a _week_ after recovering from the flu. He barely even had time to appreciate the novelty of skating without feeling like he was gonna hurl every other step before he was back in the training room, lights low, head spinning. Some days he could just scream, like maybe that would unravel the ugly knot in his chest, but Paul warned him against doing anything that could aggravate the concussion.

Suffice to say, he’s gotten really good at solitaire this past week.

In the driver’s seat, Mitch drums his fingers gently on the steering wheel and doesn’t say anything. Auston squints at him out of the corner of his eye.

Mitch’s been quiet since he finally got Auston bundled into his car. He’d been quiet coming into the apartment too, careful like he normally never is when it comes to invading Auston’s space. Auston would be freaked out if he wasn’t so grateful for the care Mitch is clearly taking with his busted head.

No, he’s more worried about the tension that’s threading through Mitch’s shoulders. It’s been tightening by increments for the past few weeks, slow enough that Auston hadn’t really noticed as the season crawled along, but now that he’s been away for a few days it’s like a beacon, pointing right at Mitch’s anxiety with neon strobe lights. It’s fucking painful to look at for too long, like the doctor’s pen light digging into his pupils during that first concussion protocol.

Auston has no idea what to do about it.

He lets the silence sit as they crawl through a few more intersections before he speaks. “Where did you say we were going?”

The drumming stops as they hit another red light. “I didn’t. It’s a surprise.”

“Is it a surprise I’m going to enjoy?”

Mitch fixes him with a baleful look. Auston feels incredibly small. “Dude. Would I ever spring a surprise on you I didn’t think you’d like? Especially when you’re not feeling great?”

The answer’s obviously _no_ but saying that would take up too much room in the car, so Auston tries to deflect with humor. “I mean, the confetti-locker during preseason this year took me, like, two hours to clean up, so I don’t know about _ever- “_

It gets Mitch to grin at least, which is close to the laugh Auston was hoping to pull out of him, so Auston rides the wave of fond pre-season memories the rest of the trip.

-

They end up parking not far from downtown and Mitch is finally laughing as they leave the lot. Auston’s too pleased with himself to look where they’re going, so he’s kind of surprised when Mitch stops in front of a bright, hipster-y looking store front and pulls open the door.

“Smoothies?”

“Don’t knock it, this has been my go-to feel-better spot for years.”

Auston looks around at the snowbanks just starting to form along the streets and raises an eyebrow. Mitch rolls his eyes and pushes him in.

It’s pleasantly warm inside, the lighting soft enough that he risks taking of his sunglasses. He kinda gets why Mitch likes it here – there’s a bubbly sign welcoming them in and telling them the specials and the ceiling is decorated with fake vines that make it feel homier than the angular white stools would suggest. A fruity smell washes over them as soon as they walk in and the early hour means there aren’t too many people mingling at the tables and making too much noise.

As they step further into the juice bar, Auston’s attention is drawn to the chalkboard hanging over the register. It’s huge and brightly colored and chock full of options. He barley gets half-way through the first column before the concussion rears its ugly head and he has to slip the sunglasses back on.

Mitch steps closer from where he was also scanning the menu. “Headache?”

Auston grimaces. The worst thing about the concussion is how it keeps ruining things at the most inopportune moments. It took hockey and screens from him for now, but he’s not gonna let it steal Mitch’s surprise too. “Just a little one, reading’s a bit much right now.” Before Mitch can suggest they head back to the car and Auston’s dim, lonely apartment, he adds, “Order for me?”

Mitch hesitates, so Auston nudges him along. “I’m sure you’ll pick something I’ll like, you order, and I’ll find a table.”

He turns before Mitch can object and finds the darkest corner of the shop.

It’s pretty empty for two in the afternoon, so Mitch finds him not long after, two brightly colored smoothies in hand. He doesn’t sit down right away. “Does your head a lot? ‘Cause there was gonna be another part to the surprise, but if you’re not feeling up to it, I’d just as soon get you back home and try another day.”

“No!” Auston’s _not _going back to sit on his lonely in his lonely apartment with his lonely self. Mitch looks taken aback. Auston forces himself to rein it in. “Let’s just – give it a few more minutes and then we can check out the rest of the surprise? This place is actually pretty quiet, I think it’s helping.”

That part’s not a lie, Auston’s surprised to find. He pushes Mitch’s chair out with his foot and gestures for Mitch to sit. “Come on, I wanna try this smoothie.”

Mitch relents and finally sits, handing Auston his drink and punching a straw in his own. “I’m glad it’s helping. Actually, that’s part of the reason I come here so often.” He pauses, stares down at his smoothie for a second and continues, “Sometimes my brain gets too loud, so I come here and it helps like, dampen everything?”

Auston nods. He’s no stranger to restless thoughts he can’t escape from. Lately, they’ve been his closest company.

“And if that doesn’t work, then I guess getting a brain freeze from a smoothie is kinda like icing it, if you think about it.”

Auston’s not sure about that one, but he’s not gonna say anything that’ll keep Marns from opening up about what’s bothering him. And who know, maybe smoothie-induced brain freezes are the secret cure to concussions. Mitch could win a Nobel Prize for that.

He says as much and preens when it tugs a laugh out of Mitch.

“Well then,” Mitch says, still chuckling as he nudges Auston’s smoothie closer, “You better get started.”

Auston eyes the smoothie dubiously. It’s a light, bright orange, the same color throughout, unlike Mitch’s two-toned drink. When he takes a sip, it’s smooth and tangy, a nice change of pace from the grainy protein shakes he’s used to choking down. Altogether, it’s not a bad smoothie.

“What’s in this?”

“Oh yeah! I ordered you the Tropicado, it’s got –” Mitch twists to squint back at the board, “– peach, orange, banana and avocado. I figured you’d like the avocado part best.”

He’s right but then again, it’s not like Mitch is a stranger to Auston’s love of guac and all other avocado toppings. Auston takes another sip of the smoothie and motions inquiringly towards Mitch’s.

“This is the Sunrise.” He says, and holds it up, It looks kinda cool, orange layered on red, with the red peeking through the straw up top. “It’s just mango and strawberry. Want a sip?”

They end up trading drinks back and forth for a while, people watching through the floor-to-ceiling windows and steering the conversation away from hockey by unspoken agreement. Finally, the concussion releases its prickly hold around Auston’s temples, so when they’re both about half-way done with their drinks, he asks, “You wanna show me the second part of your surprise now?”

Mitch’s face brightens instantly. “Yeah, if you’re sure you’re up to it.”

Auston stands, pushing in his chair and gesturing toward the door. “Lead the way.”

-

Mitch steers them away from the smoothie shop and into a commercial area he says is called Kensington Market. It’s a neat side of Toronto that Auston’s never heard of before, charming with its brightly colored buildings and bustling patrons. They wind back and forth aimlessly through the market, past regional restaurants and specialty stores. There’s new foods and new languages every few blocks, and Auston doesn’t get tired of trying to figure out what might be next.

After they’ve been walking in silence for a few blocks, Auston ventures to ask, “So how did you find out about this place?”

“My brother,” Mitch answers easily. He’s tucked deep into his coat and Auston can see where his cheeks are starting to turn pink from the cold. It’s incredibly endearing. “He’s stationed around here pretty often and he brought me before pre-season last year.”

Auston hums, trying to ignore the sharp pang of homesickness that pricks his chest. “It’s pretty cool that you brother lives so close. Do you guys get to meet up here pretty often?”

“Yeah, actually, that noodle place we just passed is like our favorite spot to eat in Toronto. Last season we met up like, every other week to catch up.” He pauses and then adds, “We haven’t been able to meet up as often this season, but that’s what the off-season’s for, I guess.”

When Auston looks, he’s lost in his own thoughts, staring vacantly at the road ahead. It takes the sharp clatter of a delivery crate falling to the floor to rouse him, and after he shakes his head, a dog shaking off water. “But that’s not why I brought you here. There’s a street up ahead I really want you to see.”

And that’s when Auston realizes they haven’t been wandering aimlessly at all, because they turn the corner and the sense memories roll over Auston like a tidal wave, crushing and overwhelming in turn. The prick of homesickness from before expands rapidly in his chest, only to immediately morph into something warm and comforting, like a hug from one of his sisters after he’s been away a long while.

“Oh.”

There’s more shops lining the street, brightly colored just like the other shops they’ve passed, but it’s noisier here in a familiar way and it smells just like his grandmother’s house. Memories of summer evenings spent on his grandparents’ porch wash over him gently this time, mingling with more memories of weekend market trips and late nights wandering around town. He turns to stare at Marns. “What – “

He’s not quite meeting Auston’s eye, rubbing at the back of his neck with the hand that’s not clutching his smoothie in a death grip. “I wasn’t sure if you’d found this place yet, but you’ve been having such a shitty time lately, so I thought, maybe, it might remind you a little of…home?” His voice rises at the end, unsure like Mitch almost never is, and Auston rushes to remove the uncertainty from his voice.

“Marns, this is – amazing, I had no idea – it’s _incredible_.”

Because it does remind him of home – it’s not quite Arizona, with its wide wide desert and shiny new streets, but it’s just like visiting Mexico in the summers with all his family gathered around. Not somewhere he spent a long time, but a place he did grow a lot in, and easier to accept here when he’s so far away from the rest of his family. The Spanish in the air sounds just like the rabble of the Saturday market and he can smell someone grilling beef on an open flame. There’s tacos to be had here somewhere, and good ones at that.

“This is a really great surprise, Marns.” Auston says. He tries to pack as much sincerity as he can into his words. Mitch should know how great he is at being a good friend. “Thank you.”

Mitch’s shoulders relax and he finally meets Auston’s gaze. “Really?”

“Really.” He bumps Marns with his shoulder and nods towards the street. “Let’s check it out?”

Auston leads the way this time, grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he takes in the taquerias and string lights, the bold, colorful artwork and the son jarocho music spilling from one of the restaurants.

It’s December, which means there’s snow on the ground outside all the restaurants, but it’s also Toronto, which means there are still people mingling on the patios outside a good number of them, warmed by electric heaters and steaming-hot food.

Halfway down the block, a sign across the street catches Auston’s eye and he’s tugging Mitch into the street without a second thought, ignoring his blabbering about jaywalking to say, “Come on, my turn to treat you. You’ve gotta try these.”

The bright red sign above the door tell them that they’re entering _El Trompo_ and Auston doesn’t even need to look at the menu before he orders. “Dos tacos al pastor, por favor.”

The cashier scribbles down his order. “¿Quieres tortillas de maíz?”

“Si.”

The cashier rings him up and gestures toward the smattering of empty tables after handing him his change. Auston thanks him and herds Mitch toward one along the far wall. Mitch follows dutifully, head cocked to the side, curious. “What’d you order?”

Auston just grins at him, sly. “My turn for a surprise, Marns.”

Mitch rolls his eyes and kicks at Auston’s ankles. “I know it’s tacos, Matts, I have picked up on that much Spanish. But what’s – el pastor? Al pastor?”

“Al-pastor,” Auston corrects, and Mitch repeats him, wrestling against his natural accent to soften the vowels and roll the ‘r’ a little more. He gets pretty close. “It’s like, if a city could have a…national food, or something, the al-pastor would be Mexico City’s, no question. We always stop at this one place in Mexico City on our way to visit our grandparents in the summer.”

Mitch looks surprised. “Really? You guys don’t fly straight in? I thought your grandparents lived kinda far from Mexico City.”

It’s Auston’s turn to look surprised. He wasn’t expecting Mitch to pay much attention when he pulled up Mexico on a map last season to show him where his mom and her family were from. Just now he’s proven that, not only was he paying attention, but he was paying close enough attention to remember now, a year later. Auston traps the warm feeling in his chest before it can spread to his face and leans forward to grab Mitch’s arm. “Marns – “

Bad idea. They’re both blushing now, and if Auston was distracted by the flush on Mitch’s cheeks earlier, it has nothing on how absolutely dumbstruck he is when Marns is looking at him so earnestly, cheeks a rosy pink and eyes a little too blue. The way his heart’s flipping around in his chest would usually make Auston want to sprint from the restaurant, and damn however much it set back his recovery, but it’s important that Mitch understands this. “Marns, they’re that good. My mom would literally make us walk to our grandparents’ place from _Arizona _if we even suggested flying straight into Hermosillo. They’re _that good._”

“Well if Ema likes them that much, I gotta try them.”

Auston scoffs and pulls his hand away. He doesn’t miss the way Marns’s hand twitches forward before he pulls it back into his lap. “What, and my opinion counts for shit? I see how it is.”

“Listen, Matts, buddy, I love you –” Auston takes the butterflies wreaking havoc on his insides and locks them up nice and tight under his ribs. It’s harder than he expected. “– but you don’t even like all-dressed chips. How am I supposed to trust taste buds that screwy?”

Auston splutters with indignation, “That’s a load, coming from the guy that puts ketchup on his eggs!”

“I’ve seen you put salsa on _your_ eggs! It’s the same thing!” Mitch shrieks. His poorly concealed laughter belies the outraged front he’s putting up.

“It’s totally different! Ketchup is water, sugar, and some mashes up tomatoes! Salsa is actually a topping!”

They’re saved from making a scene by the arrival of their tacos. They come in a little plastic basket, still steaming from where the meat was just slices from the _trompo _and smelling exactly like Auston remembers. The server drops two bottles of salsa next to the tray and tells them to enjoy their meal. They both thank her, Mitch’s _gracias_ coming out a half-second behind Auston’s and a fair sight smoother than his earlier attempts. He waits for Auston to pick a salsa and dress his own taco before copying him. He’s about to take a bite when he catches sight of the toppings. “Pineapple?”

Auston’s gonna strangle him. “Just try it. I promise you’ll like it, dude.”

Mitch is finally out of questions, or else just hungry from all the walking they’ve done but thank the Lord for either explanation because he shuts up and takes a bite.

Auston doesn’t even bother trying not to laugh at the sight of Mitch’s face. His eyes are all bugged out and he doesn’t even wait to swallow before he mumbles, “Holy shit, Matts, this is so good.”

A little bit of tortilla falls out of his mouth. It’s disgusting.

“You’re disgusting and I hate that people know we’re friends.”

Mitch flips him off before going right back to his taco like he didn’t say anything at all. Auston laughs again and finally turns to his own taco.

He takes that first bite and it’s – it’s just what he wanted, the tortilla soft and steamy, pineapple just sweet enough to cut through the spice in the meat, and exactly like the tacos he had when he was 7 and 12 and 17, crowding around a table with his parents and sisters packed in close and worried about nothing at all. It’s a really good memory and a really good moment to share with Mitch.

Who, as he watches, shoves the last bite of taco into his mouth and looks forlornly at the empty plate. Auston can’t help but snort at how pitiful he looks.

“Shut up, that was so good.” Mitch frowns. “I need more.”

“You’ve got two legs. Go up and get some more. We totally forgot to put the lime on there, so you still haven’t had a true al-pastor taco.”

Mitch starts to rise. “So, two more tacos?”

“Mmm, go ahead and get four. They’re pretty small.”

“Four, okay. Can I practice on you before I go up? Also, how do you say four in Spanish?”

Auston works hard to keep his smile from breaking too wide so Mitch doesn’t think he’s making fun of him. It’s just – it’s a very Marns thing to do, and it makes him incredibly happy to see Mitch interacting so enthusiastically with something he misses this far from home. He tells Mitch, coaching him through the double-consonant in _quattro_ and letting him practice the order a few times. When Mitch feels confident that he won’t butcher it, he bounds over to the register and Auston leans back in his chair, letting the grin spill freely over his face.

It’s been a long few days, a long few months, really, and it’s only going to get harder. From back here, Auston can see the faint traces of tension Mitch still carries in his shoulder, growing tighter every day he goes without a goal, but he also knows that the tightness around his eyes has eased the longer they wander around Kensington.

Auston’s had his own fair share of stressors, fighting through injuries and sickness and bouts of homesickness that hit harder than a Chara check from behind. It’s only December, which means it’s all likely to get worse before it gets better.

But here in this taqueria in the middle of Toronto, with the smell of roasting meat heavy in the air and the sound of Mitch’s painstakingly careful Spanish mingling with the bolero crooning from the kitchen, Auston can’t see a way they don’t come out stronger on the other side of it.

**Author's Note:**

> All of my research and translations were done through google, so please let me know if anything is glaringly incorrect! I did take some artistic liberties with the layout of Kensington Market, but both the restaurants the boys visited are based on real restaurants in the area! The smoothie shop is based on a juice bar called Vivid and El Trompo is a real taqueria that specializes in al pastor tacos! The trompo referenced in the name and the work refers to the conical skewer of meat that is slowly roasted kabob-style for al pastor tacos. 
> 
> I also took a lot of inspiration from the Son Jarocho playlist on Spotify ( I believe it's public) and the new Netflix documentary the Taco Chronicles. Both worth checking out when you've got time!
> 
> As always, if you liked it, feel free to leave a kudos or a review!


End file.
